Poland to Denmark, via China

My father´s  friend Otto was brought up in Shanghai, his parents had a factory there…

When the system changed in China in 1949 the whole family decided to return back to Poland also  to open a factory there but the Polish state has confiscated the factory because Poland got a new system too…..it was really a big drama for Otto´s parents…Otto was also missing China a lot ..My family and I where visiting Otto  and his family sometimes and as a child  I enjoyed a lot listening to his stories…also eating chinese dishes….

It was Otto who adviced us to move to Denmark….


The moment of signing an agreement between China and Poland ..my father is second person on the left side in the uniform….


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More from Armenia


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My Great Uncle


My Great Uncle was left for dead in the Syrian Desert by Turkish authorities after witnessing the massacre of his family and thousands of other Armenians. He was rescued by nomadic tribesman hours from death and through incredible luck and determination was able to make it to Paris, via Egypt. In Paris he managed to get a job in a book shop and taught himself medicine, and subsequently became one of the city’s most respected doctors.

In his wedding picture, he was the only person from his side of the family present at the wedding.

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June 5, 2013 · 2:25 am

My family picture, from Uruguay

My family roots by ship and plane. Our roots have mixed. All my family (minus my big brother) are now living in Montevideo, Uruguay, a little country between Argentina and Brazil.

My grandparents and their kids (my mother, my aunt and my uncle) were born in a little village in Galicia, Spain. My grandparents had a hard life, they decided to migrate to South America because of the poverty and the hunger. They never had the opportunities that I have had, but they gave to their descendants so much love and care that has carried out allowing us to live our life in happiness.  I could not imagine my childhood without my grandparents. I still can hear their voices, their accents, their food and their laugh.

This picture was taken two years before my grandparents (in the middle) passed away in 2010, just around the time my daughter was born. Presently, I can not imagine my life without her, she is the root of my life. I think that now I understand my grandparents.


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Hong Kong Hilton

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Crossing Water

My parents grew up in Móng Cái, a small town in Quảng Ninh province, Vietnam. A country that had seen thirty years of war and my father had fought to protect. The town lays four miles in from the coast, just below the Ka Long River running along Vietnam’s northern border with China. Since we have lived in England, I have been told many stories about my homeland and the reasons we left.

My Mother told me she had cycled across Ka Long bridge every morning as a young girl – her hair blowing back as she peddled against the morning breeze. Every bump and irregularity made audible through the rattles and clanks of her bicycle, with the river flowing gently below. The days, however, were not always peaceful. After the war had ended the government began to assert more control over the people and life became uneasy.

I was told how we had left Vietnam from Đảo Cô Tô by boat one evening, without planning to go back. My Mother told me about the days and nights spent at sea in a fishing boat, the waves that came crashing down upon us. How the Hong Kong authorities had detained us, moving us from island to island, while they worked out what to do with us. We eventually spent two years living in the city.

In 1990 we boarded a plane to England, my Mother recalls the calm as she looked down through the clouds upon the ocean below.  She thought about all she had left behind and the family members she may never see again. Even now, she speaks of the beautiful landscapes, the mountains and the greenness of the trees.

There were no family photographs taken in Vietnam, just the one inch passport photos in shades of grey, attached to official looking papers. Since being in England, we have, from time to time, received envelopes containing laminated pictures. Images sent from those who stayed and those who have returned. We haven’t been back, but one day we will. For now we have the photographs.

Thi Bui


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